The Next Hiroshima

I don’t usually do this, but let me get political for a moment. Nuclear war is no joke. I don’t think anyone is stupid enough to think it is. But the President of the United States is treating North Korea’s nuclear threat like silly juvenile boasts (or, you know, like his own bombastic, unrealistic rhetoric). His recent comments at the U.N. about totally annihilating North Korea could be applauded as America finally taking a tough stance on protecting ourselves and our allies. But I see them as an unnecessary escalation. Frankly, he’s playing with fire. While he may want to come off to the rest of the world as some kind of unpredictable leader, he is name calling and leveling threats at a leader we absolutely know for certain is unpredictable.

Many Americans are applauding his statement right now, but they haven’t actually lived in the shadow of North Korea or seen the devastation of an atomic detonation on their soil. My heart goes out to the citizens of Japan and our other Asian allies caught in the crosshairs.

When I lived in Osaka, my sharehouse was very close to Korea Town. Japan has a pretty terrible track record when it comes to integrating and accepting other Asian nationals into their country. I’m not going to go into detail, but I’m also not going to sweep it under the rug. Koreans and other Asians are not always treated well in Japan. Even if they have been there for generations. It is a thing. One I wish Japan would be a little quicker at recognizing and correcting, but what can you do. Anyway, I lived very close to Korea Town, so I got to see a little bit of the good and bad.

For the most part, my Japanese friends and neighbors had a great relationship with Korean friends and neighbors. They shared food, culture, and camaraderie. The families of most of the Koreans I met had been in Japan since WWII, so, aside from ancestry, they were pretty much Japanese. Kind of like Italian Americans or other ethnic groups that have been in this country long enough to blend their native culture with our own.

While things seemed great on the surface, though, I found out this acceptance also came with a lot of fear. Fear of North Korea. I even found out that the reason Otose bought the house I was living in was because she found out the previous owners were North Korean Spies! She never wanted people like that living near her again, so she bought up the whole corner of the block. Now whether the previous owners were actually spies or not, this type of fear was palpable all over Japan. So while my Japanese friends tolerated and in many cases genuinely cared about their Korean neighbors, it seemed there was always a seed of doubt waiting to sprout. Living in the shadow of North Korea had made Japan fearful and suspicious.

I didn’t understand any of this when I arrived. How could I? America hasn’t seen a war on home soil since the Civil War. We have been threatened and afraid, but even the Cold War was over before I was born. Terrorists managed to attack us at home on September 11^th, but even that couldn’t instill overwhelming fear of foreign attack in my generation. Until I moved to Japan, I never worried too much about international politics much less the very real possibility that the country I was calling home at the time would be attacked. After a few months in Japan, North Korea became very scary.

Now that I have returned to the U.S., my fear of North Korea hasn’t abated. I am not afraid that they will fire a missile at America. They don’t really need to. There are plenty of closer targets. Several missiles have already been fired over the island of Hokkaido. My friends in Osaka and Wakayama are far from there, but fear spreads quickly. I have seen videos and heard stories of preparedness drills that look so much like something out of the Cold War era it is heartbreaking. I am afraid for my friends. I am afraid for all of our allies in the region. I am afraid for our world.

WWII was a brutal time for everyone. There were atrocities committed on all sides. Perhaps the worst, though, were the nuclear bombs dropped on Nagasaki and Hiroshima. The aftermath of these explosions were enough to make the world say, “yep, we crossed a line.” Like many, I thought, surely, once would be enough.

I think back to my brief visit to Hiroshima. The area around the Peace Park was eerily quiet, even for Japan. It’s like even the birds knew the sadness that burned out building represented and refrained from singing. There was a group near the monument talking to guests and handing out information about the survivors, trying to educate visitors. Trying to keep history from repeating itself. I didn’t understand their fervor at the time. I listened to their stories. I cried. I soaked up the history and sadness of the place. But I didn’t understand their urgency.

I never thought nuclear missiles would be a legitimate threat to my friends and family. I never thought WWIII would be a valid fear in my lifetime. But it seems they knew it would.